


The Captain's Lamb

by aquarius_galuxy



Category: Hook (1991), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6730348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquarius_galuxy/pseuds/aquarius_galuxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a lot to Smee, a lot that the Captain can hurt, and he hopes that there’ll be more good than hurt tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Captain's Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Humiliation. Some angst. This might approach dub-con, maybe. There is nothing cuddly about this.

“Cap’n,” Smee pleads, his whimper a weak, whining thing that trembles down his throat and through his arms. “I’ll do whatever ye please. Jus’– Jus’ lemme go. I beg ye.”

“No,” the Captain says. He stalks forward, polished boots clicking sharp across the worn wood flooring, and Smee gulps when cool metal presses up along his throat, whispering up to nestle just beneath his grizzled chin. 

“What– What mus’ I do?” There is a lot to Smee, a lot that the Captain can hurt, and he hopes that there’ll be more good than hurt tonight. “Cap’n, please.”

Hook smiles then, all yellow enamel and black stains, missing teeth and foul breath. He leans in close, so close Smee feels the damp weight of his breath, sees it fog up his little round glasses. His throat clicks when he swallows. “Ye’ll be me lamb, o’ course. Me tight, fuckin’ lamb.”

Sharp metal scrapes just beneath Smee’s jaw, catching on oily hairy skin that he hasn’t shaved in a while. With a harsh laugh, Hook takes the last step forward to close the distance between them, pressing their bellies together, and reaches up to undo the scratchy ropes bound around Smee’s wrists. He drops his hand, catches Smee between the legs in a loose grope, and Smee’s breath hitches. He can’t hide anything from this man.

The Captain rumbles a low laugh.

“Go to th’ galley. Fetch th’ oil. I wan’ ye’n me berth. I wan’ yer ben’ over when I’m done wi’ me dinner.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” he whispers, yelps when the hand around his nuts tightens enough to hurt. 

Hook releases him with a slap of his ass, and Smee lumbers off to the galley, rubbing his raw wrists. The Captain’s meal is there on his study desk–Smee has already sampled it in front of his very eyes–and he will be there for a good fifteen or so. 

Smee makes his way to the Captain’s room after the galley, lights the oil lamps, and begins to undo his breeches. He prepares himself first. This is something Hook will not deign himself to do, and he will not care if Smee is unprepared. So, Smee bends over the Captain’s bed, shoves fingers between his legs and opens up his hole. He wishes that Hook would do this for him, bring him to release, but Hook does not. Hook comes and takes what he has and leaves Smee dripping fluids after, both his own and the Captain’s. 

He leaves his own swollen prick alone. Hook likes to see it. Sometimes Hook belittles it–it really is small, worthless like Smee is–and he never asks to be taken up his behind. Smee is fine with that.

He fingers his ass until he’s wide enough for Hook’s cock, and strokes himself with his clean other hand, so there’s no evidence of this pleasure. Smee leaves off when pressure builds in his groin and his breathing deepens.

By the time this happens, Hook is more or less done with his meal, and Smee waits with both forearms pressed flat against the foot of his Captain’s bed, legs apart, breeches and underpants around his ankles. 

The door squeaks noisily open. Hook’s boots tap into the room. Smee listens to his low _ahh_  of approval, and trembles, ass clenching. He turns his head slightly to watch as Hook strokes himself through his breeches, the length of him growing big and hard, and Smee salivates.

“Suck me off,” Hook demands, standing in the middle of his room.

Smee scrambles to obey. He unlaces his Captain’s breeches, tugs at his underpants, and his nostrils flare at Hook’s unwashed, ripe odor. He tastes better that way, all salty sweat. Smee makes short, slobbery work of this, working his tongue around Hook’s prick, until it glistens in warm lamplight. 

“O’er on me bed,” is the next order. Smee obeys. He has barely any time to bend over and suck a breath and cool steel presses into the fat at his waist. Hook’s prick _slams_  into him, blunt and wide and burning and it _hurts_ before his body starts to accommodate.

From there on out it’s a steady, in-out fucking that begins to feel good. Hook reaches around and carelessly grasps Smee’s cock, snorting when it drools onto his fingers.

“Small’s they come, Smee,” he says, amused, and pets his dick like how he pets the cats on board. The cats don’t like Hook. 

Smee flushes and dips his head, hoping he doesn’t jizz right now because Hook would just laugh at his tolerance. “Pathetic,” he agrees. It makes him throb.

Hook’s fingers are rough. Each sharp tap sends harsh pleasure singing through his flesh, and his arms shake as he groans, jerks when Hook’s angle changes and he hits _right there_  and Smee can’t think straight anymore. He pushes his hips up in a complete offering.

“Leas’ yer good fer a tight hole.” Hook pushes him almost entirely away from himself, so just his tip remains inside, and slams it all back in.

“Yes, yes, Cap’n,” Smee gasps. 

Hook fucks him right down into the hard mattress, and Smee’s cock smashes against the wood of his bed-end, sending twists of pain and sensation up his spine. He can’t breathe. He clutches at the sheets, tries not to come. He fails.

He spurts thick bursts of white that spill down his thighs onto the floor and his feet, mumbling Hook’s name. Hook continues to pound into him. 

“Already, Smee?” he asks, reaches forward once more to touch his sad, leaking prick, and wipes his fingers delicately on Smee’s ass. Then he grips Smee’s hip and thrusts forward and growls, “lemme show ye how it’s done.”

He pounds Smee so hard into the bed that it’s all he can do to hold on, to ignore the discomfort in his behind and bear it until it ends, that fullness that will leave him limping into tomorrow. 

When Hook finally jizzes, it’s with a shout, and he empties his seed into Smee, pushing forward with his hips like it’ll help empty all of it. Smee takes it like the servant he is.

Hook pulls out and steps back and says, “dress me fer bed.”

Smee obeys with a wince. He straightens, walks stiffly, slowly over to where Hook admires himself in front of his mirror, turning his face this way and that, and Smee takes his feathered hat off first, then loosens the ‘kerchief around his neck. 

Hook proceeds to talk about his day. Smee listens with every ounce of energy he’s got left. He pulls on Hook’s sleep robes and nightcap and waits for Hook to get in bed, before draping the covers over him. 

Hook turns his cheek towards Smee. Smee leans in and pushes a sloppy kiss onto it. He whispers a “goodnigh’, Cap’n,” and blows out the oil lamps, before letting himself out of the room.

Tomorrow, they’ll do it all again.

**Author's Note:**

> So frustrated that there’s no decent Capt Hook/Smee fic. Wrote my own. I don’t even know what their voices are like because I haven’t really read any Hook fic.


End file.
